


once more before the cold

by TheEagleGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Canon Compliant, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, jonsakinkweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:03:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: He has a secret part of Sansa, a part she only shares with him. It will have to be enough.





	once more before the cold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jonsa Kink week. Kink: adultery/cuckolding

“Harry is a fool,” Sansa tells him over a glass of wine. “But he’s a fool with an army that won back the North for me, and he’s a fool I can control.”

Jon says nothing, opens and closes his burned hand against the arm of his chair. Harry seems like the sort of man the old Sansa would have fawned over--and she  _ does _ , to an extent. Jon’s seen the syrupy sweet smile she directs at her husband when he turns to her during meals, the placating hand she places on his shoulder when he’s riled up. In turn, Harry seems to revere her, seeking her attentions like a man newly wed, a man enraptured. But Jon has seen the icy determination in Sansa’s eyes when no one else does--it’s a look their father used to wear. 

Sansa sighs now, her eyes on the fire crackling noisily. Her solar is awash with a warm light, staving off the howling winter outside their doors, and Jon can see the color in her cheeks, though it may be from the wine. 

“He seems a competent fighter,” Jon says finally, if only to fill up the space between them. “It should serve him well at the Wall.”

“Yes,” Sansa says dryly. “The Others will quake in their boots in fear of Harry the Heir, they will.” At Jon’s raised brow, she explains. “He’s never  _ actually _ seen battle. And he’s quite determined to get me with child before he leaves, in case he dies doing something awfully heroic.”

Jon’s lip twitches, and Sansa seems to be fighting back a smile herself. For the first time since Jon’s arrived back at Winterfell, she seems completely relaxed, boneless in her chair, the bitterness in her voice more in jest than not. 

“Where do you suppose your  _ determined _ husband is tonight, then?” Jon asks, leaning forward. Sansa doesn’t move when Jon places his wine on the table, simply tracks his movement with her eyes.

“With your queen, perhaps,” Sansa says simply, her gaze soft. Her empty hand comes up to grab a fistful of Jon’s tunic. “Perhaps you better get to it before he remembers his duties.”

Jon doesn’t fight it when Sansa tugs at him, simply sinks out of the chair and onto his knees before her. Sansa doesn’t move from her relaxed pose in the chair, simply sips from her goblet, her eyes darkening.

“Harry  _ is _ a fool,” Jon agrees, and rests his head on Sansa’s knee, if only for a moment, before inching the skirts of her gown up. It’s grey, and woolen...hardly embellished, in fact. Jon still thinks she’s far more beautiful than any woman he’s ever seen, moreso than even Daenerys Targaryen.

When the skirts are bunched around Sansa’s thighs, she shifts slightly, opening her legs for him. Jon kisses the inside of her knee before he lifts it over his shoulder.

_ Gods _ , he thinks, when he licks into her. She tastes perfect.

“Jon,” she whispers above him, and he watches as she sets the wine down with a shiver. Her fingers card through his hair, and she pulls him closer. 

Jon adds a finger, then two, faster than he would have if only go hear Sansa’s soft intake of breath. The few times they’ve allowed themselves  _ this _ , Jon had drawn it out, teased her to the edge before easing her over. There’s something about being with Sansa that makes him want to go slow, to make the moments last as long as they can. Jon doesn’t have it in him to tease now, though, not when he knows he’ll have to leave, that there’s a battle waiting for him beyond the Wall.

Jon feels the Sansa’s grip in his hair shift when he speeds up, tightening her hold. She comes quickly, her back arching off the back of the chair. The leg around his shoulder tightens, pulling him closer, as though trapping him would be enough to make him stay.

Jon sets down Sansa’s leg softly, and for a long moment the only sounds in the room are their breathing and the fire crackling behind Jon’s back. 

“Jon,” Sansa says, touching his face. When his eyes meet hers, they’re full of unsaid words. Sansa’s throat and chest are flushed above her bodice. “You have to come back to me,” she tells him, her voice unsteady. “You can’t leave me alone in Winterfell, surrounded by these fools and enemies.”

Jon hisses involuntarily. “You have no enemies here, Sansa,” he assures her, pressing a kiss to her thigh. “And if you do, point me to them and we’ll vanquish them together.”

She nods, and Jon can see she’s blinking back tears. He fights to keep his hand from tightening around her knee, knows that Sansa wants to compose herself before she speaks again. 

“My request remains,” Sansa says, when she has steadied herself. Even now, with Jon between her legs, she manages to look more regal than any other woman Jon has ever seen. “You must return to me, Jon Snow. Do everything in your power to make it back here alive.”

Jon could turn this into a jape, pull Sansa into her chambers, pretend to forget this conversation. He cannot promise her such a thing--there’s no way to be certain he’ll survive, or that the queen will allow him to return. There are whisperings, of course--her dragons like him, and Howland Reed’s behavior when he first arrived had aroused suspicion, especially when Ser Jorah began to ask him about the Tower of Joy. But Jon does not know if Daenerys has put that information together yet, or if she’ll want him to stay with her after the battles are over. He may not be  _ allowed _ to return, if she does find out.

“I’ll try,” he tells her. Sansa’s mouth twists; she isn’t happy.

“I suppose that’s the best I’ll get from you, isn’t it?” Sansa muses, and then her hands are on Jon’s shoulders, pushing him onto the furs before the fire.

Jon wants to kiss her gently, but when Sansa follows him down her kiss is biting, her hands rough against his shoulders as she steadies herself against him. Jon hisses through his teeth when she unfastens his trousers, tugging too hard. The discomfort is worth it, though, when Sansa sinks down on him.

“Gods,” he swears, pulling on the laces of Sansa’s corset, wanting to see more of her. She swats his hands away, pulls them down to either side of his head and holds him down. Jon could easily switch their positions, but he loves her this way, riding him, her head tipping back and loosening her hair from its careful arrangement. Sansa is beautiful in any way, but it’s better this way, seeing her drop the walls around her the way she doesn’t with anyone else, not even her husband. 

Especially not her husband.

“I love you,” Jon tells her, his breath short. Sansa shivers, and her eyes meet his. “I want to say I’ll come back.”

Sansa’s grip around his wrists tightens. “I know,” she says, voice hitching. She bends forward to kiss him, rolling her hips so that when their lips meet, Jon groans. 

Quick as lightning, Jon rolls so that Sansa is below him. She bites his lip in retaliation, but moans when Jon thrusts deeper, her fingernails piercing his back. It’s his name she chokes out when she comes, squeezing around him. Jon follows soon after, and when he’s finished, he stays on top of her for a moment, face buried in her neck and breathing in the scent of  _ Sansa _ and  _ home,  _ perhaps for one of the last times.

 

 

 

When Harry enters Sansa’s solar not a half-hour later, they are the picture of innocence. Sansa’s hair, too ruined to redo, is around her shoulders as she brushes it, the strands gleaming in the firelight. If Harry finds it strange his wife’s hair is unbound before another man he does not indicate it, and his smile to Jon sheepish.

“I’m sorry for the late hour, my lady,” Lord Harry says. “The queen wished to speak with me, some last minute reports on our provisions and men.”

“It is no loss, my lord,” Sansa replies in a soothing tone of voice. Perhaps only Jon can hear the mocking edge underneath. “I had my brother to keep me company.”

Jon excuses himself, and as the door closes behind him he can already see Harry moving towards Sansa, desire in his every movement. It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself. He has a secret part of Sansa, a part she only shares with him. It will have to be enough. It will warm him on the long night to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Lizzie, who put this event together, and to everyone who participated! It was a lot of fun :)
> 
> Please comment/kudos/review!


End file.
